


Etiquette and Lies

by LadyJirachi



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, Smut, alter ego
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJirachi/pseuds/LadyJirachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Determine Loki Odinson's sexual orientation. </p><p>The task was simple. Darcy knew what to do—she was a professional, after all. Find the target, stalk him, and then get the scoop. Prying and investigating him was part of the job, but doing anything further than that would definitely be out of bounds. The same way it was out of bounds to fall for a man who might not even see her as a woman... AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel as if I have inadvertently fallen for this pairing. It will NOT let me go, no matter how I try to ignore it! And so this fic was born. Please let me know if you see any typos... Thanks!

_“Determine Loki Odinson’s sexual orientation.”_

Darcy slapped her hand to her forehand in slight frustration. She glanced sideways at her partner, who was grinning amusedly at the email on the computer screen. She didn’t see what was so funny, and she glowered at Jane, trying to convey to the other woman the exasperation she was feeling. Jane, still grinning, rose from the rolling chair she had been sitting on, and went over to a table nearby to grab her mug of coffee.

“I don’t think this is funny,” Darcy sighed. “The clients’ requests get weirder and weirder every time a new one comes in.”

“Hey, at least requests are coming in,” Jane countered. “Money is money. Half of the fee has already been deposited in our account.”

Darcy sighed, picking up her spoon and digging into the mashed potatoes in her bowl. A stray strand of hair dangled in her eye, and she swiped it away with the back of her hand. Her long brown hair was a thick mess, but she was too lazy to try to sort the locks out.

“Who’s this Loki person, anyway?” she asked. 

Her job description as a secret informant had always been simple. Receive an email from an unknown client, get the information the client wanted (along with proof, most of the time photographic), send it back to the client, and get the cash she was owed in the joint bank account with Jane. Anonymity was the women’s hallmark; they demanded no information pertaining to their clients’ identities, and vice versa. This was what made their business more highly sought than the alternative of hiring private detectives—mutual anonymity appealed to many clients, who preferred to get the information they wanted without the hassle of explaining themselves to the informant, or revealing who they were.

Jane and Darcy never cared—or allowed themselves to—about a client’s intention behind the request. Whether it was legal or illegal, or how the client intended to handle that information, it was none of their business, and they never asked. Most of the time, though, emails usually consisted of clients asking to track a target for photographic signs of infidelity (suspicious wives or husbands, she surmised), or sometimes, simply to check if a target was taken or single. It was very likely that the latter request were from women who had too much time (and money) on their hands. For Darcy, her job had seemingly dwindled to something like a tabloid reporter (except her scoop went privately to a client instead of a tabloid newspaper), and this had been her bread and butter for goodness knows how long.

Determining someone’s sexual orientation was the first, though.

“Hmm.” Jane was already staring at the computer, mug of coffee in one hand. With her other, she began typing manically into the keyboard. A few minutes passed. “Let me hack into his birth certificate… Bingo.”

She leaned back into her chair, propping her feet onto the side of the desk. “Loki Odinson. Twenty-eight this year. Hey… He’s a cardiac surgeon.”

“And now someone thinks he’s gay,” Darcy quipped, swallowing a mouthful of potatoes. “Could it be a nurse or some other colleague of his who’s a busybody?”

Jane was still peering at the screen. She bent forward and began typing again, mouse clicking madly. “I can’t find his picture anywhere. There’s something off about this guy.”

“Yeah, he’s possibly gay, remember?”

“That’s just rude, Darcy.”

“Oops.” 

“Anyway…” Jane continued typing furiously on the keyboard. “I think his birth certificate is fake.”

“What?” Darcy demanded, licking a streak of mashed potatoes off her upper lip. “That doesn’t even make sense. Why would he do that?”

“This man’s a real mystery, alright,” Jane said. “A lot of his identity is pretty well-hidden. It’s hard to find. I can’t seem to tap into anything about his family background, or of his childhood.” She looked up, eyes staring at Darcy. “Either he hid it, or… I don’t know.”

“It’s fine.” Darcy waved her spoon. “Who cares about all this shit, anyway? The client asked if he’s gay. We find out if he’s gay. He is. The end.”

Jane eyed her sceptically. “Why are you already so sure he’s gay?”

“Because,” Darcy said with exaggerated patience, “if the client asked about his sexual orientation, it means he’s already done some suggestive things to hint he might not be straight, only the client’s not sure.”

“Or maybe,” Jane retorted, “the client is a gay guy who has the hots for him, but he’s scared Mr Odinson might not reciprocate his feelings.”

Darcy looked horrified. “That’s so sad!”

Jane sighed. “Okay, let’s stop with the wild guessing. We’re not supposed to care about the client. Let’s just get the information. The man’s address is listed in the email.”

“Fantastic,” Darcy said boredly, putting down her bowl. Her large metal spoon clinked inside. “I’ll go stakeout his place, maybe see him making out with a guy through his window, and then take a photo, and ta-da! Case closed.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jane corrected her. “He could still be bisexual. The client asked very generally for his sexual orientation, which includes many possibilities, not just homosexuality. He could be asexual, he could be pansexual…”

“Oh, god,” Darcy groaned. “Don’t you want to get this over and done with?”

“I want to get this over and done with _right_ ,” Jane said pointedly. “We have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“Yeah, well, how am I supposed to guess whether he’s asexual? Hey, Mr Odinson, have you never felt any sexual attraction for anyone? Let me know.”

It was rare for Darcy to interact with the targets her clients had assigned her to, but she had done it a few times before, when the situation urgently called for it. She would, of course, disguise herself (her shining forte that was the driving force behind the success rate of the job), and assume various alter egos to extract the information she needed from the targets under the lull of casual conversation. Her alter egos were so numerous that it was hard to keep track. Some days she had taken the role of an innocent saleslady eager to promote the wonders of life insurance to a target, and other instances she had used the pretext of a ditzy high school girl who was irrationally infatuated with the target at first sight. Her numerous disguises and her commendable acting had made her wonder whether she should consider being a movie star instead.

In any case, good acting or not, she did not like talking to the targets; she preferred to be as inconspicuous as she could.

“Asexuality isn’t what you’re making it to be, and let’s not jump to weird conclusions, okay?” Jane demanded. “I’m just listing possibilities that you might need to consider. But let’s stakeout his place first, and then we can plan our next move when we have more information.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said hopefully. “Maybe we are concluding too much. Maybe this job won’t be as hard as we think.”

She would soon find herself very, very wrong.

* * *

 It was late evening when Darcy finally tracked down the house, having taken public transport—the subway—and used her phone GPS as a guide to her destination.

She presently wore a knitted wool cap over her blond wig. She liked wearing blonde wigs. While she was sure that the stereotype about dumb blondes weren’t wholly true, it made her feel more at ease when she feigned innocence and airheaded confusion to a random passer-by. She also wore horn-rimmed glasses, and had put on blue contact lenses to go with her long blonde hair. Her clothing was relatively simple: a sweater and a plaid skirt, and she carried a bag pack. In her hands, she was clutching an unraveled map, which was her final prop in playing the role of a lost citizen looking for the correct house along the deserted street.

It was important that she looked nothing like herself. There were CCTV cameras around the streets, and she avoided having her real face exposed to the pesky devices if possible.

Darcy had to hold back a whistle as she stared at the lavish modern terrace house that was listed in the address of the email. It was three-storeyed, and included a large garden, filled with dense, green bushes of pretty, pale roses that glinted beneath the amber shade of the overhead street lights. Tall black gates towered at the front of the glamorous marble house, and Darcy grumbled incoherently under her breath about how some people had too much money to burn as she took in the ebony steel swirls before her.

Jane’s voice suddenly spoke into her ear from the tiny earpiece Darcy had fastened on, hidden out of sight under the wool cap. “See anything of interest?”

“No,” Darcy muttered, ducking her face back to the obscurity of her large map. “All the lights are off, at least from what I see in the windows.”

“If this doesn’t work, then you’ll have to go the hospital he works in, and maybe take a look,” Jane said. Darcy could hear her munching something; she was probably finishing off the leftovers Darcy had provided earlier.

“I thought you said you couldn’t find anything about his background,” Darcy whispered.

“Yeah, well, I found his work ID,” Jane said. “It might be fake, like his birth cert, but we’ll still have to check it out if we don't get any info here.”

“I’ve been thinking about this client,” Darcy said. “The fact that he or she knows where the target lives makes me a bit uneasy. You said that the client might be a gay guy madly in love with Loki, right? Well, what if he’s a stalker?”

“That’s not any of our business,” Jane answered bluntly. “You know that. We get the job done, get the cash, end of story. And can you please not take what I said so seriously, it was just a theory—”

Darcy stiffened as a tall silhouette suddenly cast over the golden shade of the street light. Her grip tightened on the map, and she stared as lengthy black shadows washed over the bright colours of its surface. Jane, sensing something was wrong, fell silent on the other end.

“May I be of assistance?” A silky voice spoke.

A second ticked by.

She fastened a smile on her face, swallowed a deep breath, and then turned around, making sure her bespectacled features were scrunched up with guileless desperation.

“Yes! You see, I’m a bit—…”

Dark, entrancing green eyes, hooded by long, sooty dark lashes, filled her stunned vision. The masculine profile. The aristocratic slant of his high cheekbones. The pale sculpted lips, slightly upturned. The straight, patrician nose.

“… lost,” she finished at last, once her voice came back to her constricting throat.

The tall man glanced carelessly down at the map in her hands. There was a certain arrogance in the way he moved, and she stared dazedly at him. He wore a black silk overcoat, and long, tight-fitting pants. Simple, but unmistakeably refined.

“Where are you headed to this fine night?” he inquired politely.

“Um,” Darcy said, looking back at her map. “Well, I’m looking for House 27, and…”

“This is House 19,” he responded, with an unfathomable smile. There was something almost unnerving about that smile. “A bit more to go, my dear. You need only to keep walking straight.”

“Thanks,” she replied, letting the false relief seep audibly through her voice. “Friend’s dinner, you see. I’m awfully late as it is. Thanks a billion.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he murmured. His eyes, the colour of unyielding emerald, flashed. “Shall we?”

Darcy blinked. “We?”

“Of course,” the mysterious male said smoothly. “How can I let a damsel in distress like yourself wander about the streets alone at night?” He raised a large, slender, black-gloved hand, and gestured languorously to the general direction in front of him.

His smile seemed to become cruel, almost.

“Let us not waste the night. Dinner awaits.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this fic, despite my tight schedule that is life. On the other hand, positive response will always be a massive incentive! Thanks to everyone who read the previous chapter!

“That’s okay,” Darcy said quickly. Things were taking a turn for the unexpected, and not in a good way. She wasn’t sure if this man was Loki Odinson, but one thing was for sure: he might prove to be trouble if she wasn’t careful. She highly doubted he was offering to accompany her because he was being chivalrous. There was something _off_ about his demeanour, and she didn’t like it. “I can go by myself. I’m a tough girl.”

The corner of his sculpted lips curled upwards. “Are you?”

For some reason, she found offense in that simple remark.

“Of course I am!” Darcy snapped. It was ridiculous—that what a man she barely knew said could annoy her so much. It was most likely the open condescension in the way he was surveying her that made her particularly angry. “Thank you for your kindness, but I would like to be on my way now.”

She took quick steps along the pavement, her flats squeaking against concrete. She had folded the map messily back into place, and then tucked it under her arm, where it clung to her like a piece of guilty weight. Her pulse raced when she realised that the man was casually following her, his hands tucked in the large pockets of his coat and his feet moving in stealthy, sure-footed steps.

Darcy stopped.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded. “I said I was fine on my own!”

A voice suddenly sounded in her ear, almost making her jump, and she recognised offhandedly that it belonged to Jane. She had nearly forgotten about the earpiece she was covertly wearing beneath her wool cap. “Darcy. That man might be Loki Odinson. I have his picture on his work ID. It matches him.”

Darcy didn’t bother to ask Jane how she had taken in the man’s appearance (not that she could ask, or say anything at all to the latter, since he was standing right before her). She knew. Jane had hacked into the CCTV along the streets.

Okay. If he was Loki Odinson, this meant that she had inadvertently stumbled across the target, and had even communicated with him. While Darcy disliked exposing herself directly to a target, what was done was done (she had taken a risk, after all, by coming to his home), and she would have to make the best out of it. She had to be careful, though. Her task was a strange one, and she wondered to herself how she was going to extract the information from him. Prying around his workplace and getting the scoop from his colleagues or acquaintances via casual conversation would definitely be more helpful than going directly to him. 

_Hey, what’s your sexual orientation?_

If only she could just ask him that off the bat.

A slender, large leather-gloved hand waved in front of Darcy’s face, snapping her out of her reverie. His ebony brows were knitted together as he watched her quizzically, though not without a hint of amusement.

“Is something wrong?” he inquired lightly. “I was under the impression that you were late for that dinner of yours. Is this an appropriate time to be getting lost inside your head?”

She glared at him, but hastily bit back a retort telling him to get lost. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to interrogate him, unfortunately. But since he was here in her grasp, she had to do _something_ in order to investigate him.

Only she wasn’t sure what.

Darcy’s answer came in the form of a massive raindrop landing on her small nose. She blinked and jolted in surprise as the liquid slid down her pale skin.

His green eyes, hooded by the long lashes, glanced away, and he looked up languidly at the sky. Grey, stormy clouds had begun to form across the black, starless expanse of the night.

Darcy seized the opportunity the moment it dawned on her.

“Do you have an umbrella I can borrow?” she said rapidly, before she regretted it. As if an unknown force was right on her side, another drop of rainwater splashed onto the edge of her horn-rimmed glasses, before trickling across her cheek. “I don’t want to be caught in the rain before I get there.”

He gave her a derisive smile, white teeth gleaming. The man appeared disinterested and oblivious to the subsequent drops of rain that abruptly lingered across a long, lustrous lock of his raven mane—with a shaky breath, she found herself unexpectedly captivated by the sight. “Just a second ago you said you didn’t require my aid.”

“That was before it started raining,” Darcy shot back angrily. If it weren’t for the mission (which she was starting to regret accepting from the client), she would have ran off and washed her hands of this infuriating man alone first chance she got. He was so vexing! “I’m sure House 27 is still quite a long way from here. Can’t you lend me an umbrella since we’re right at your door?”

His lashed rested against his pale skin for a brief moment, before lifting again. “And how do you know that I live at House 19?”

Darcy’s heart leapt into her mouth. Fuck!

“It was just an assumption,” she said, praying that her horror didn’t surface in her profile. “You’re standing outside the house, and so I thought that was the case. What, do you think I’m a stalker, or something?”

She regretted her words the moment they left her lips.

Jane, who had been silent up to now, had begun yelling in her ear. “Darcy!”

Darcy winced.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Loki drawled, emerald eyes raking her face interestedly. The tips of his beautiful hair were dripping lightly with tantalizing rainwater. “I think you would make a rather intriguing stalker, actually.”

She had barely opened her mouth to snarl at him when he turned away and approached the black steel gates. His gloved hand dipped gracefully into the large pocket of his overcoat, and she registered the metallic glint of a key.

“Follow me.”

* * *

She was an idiot. No self-respecting woman would willingly follow a stranger—not to mention a man twice their size—into his home, but now here she was. Technically, she wasn’t inside his house per se, but was instead sitting on a nicely-cushioned bamboo chair at the sheltered patio situated by the front of his massive, modern terrace house. The patio was beautiful; enchanting, golden lamps hung from the top of the pillars, casting her surroundings in a surreal, romantic glow. Brown tree roots curled all around the seemingly artistic gaps in the lush-coloured walls and ceiling, and she could easily see the pale roses gleaming from the greenly rich foliage in the vast garden laid out before her awestruck eyes. A glass table stood across the bamboo chair she was sitting on, supported by four curled mahogany feet. A porcelain teapot sat on the surface.

Darcy wouldn’t be surprised if Loki found her very suspicious. Or at least, he must find her to be a woman without any form of reasonable self-preservation. As aforementioned, he was much larger and stronger than her (he pretty much dwarfed her with his height alone), and she didn’t even know him. Yet she had obediently followed him into the unknown territory of his home like a blindly trusting dog (granted, it was equally odd that he had allowed a stranger in). The towering steel gates of the terrace house were now firmly shut, sealing off any forms of escape she could take. She could only hope things wouldn’t dwindle to that point.

She wondered if she was really crazy. She _did_ have an umbrella of her own (hidden in her bag pack), and it was for the sake of this mad mission that she had pretended otherwise and asked him for one. What if her target ultimately turned out to be a rapist, or a serial killer, or something like that? How was she going to escape then? Never in all her years as a secret informant had she found herself in the current situation she was in now. Everything was too spontaneous—she should have planned this craziness better. But then again, how was she to know that Loki would sneak up on her like that earlier? None of her targets had managed to ever startle her in such a manner, leaving her in a chillingly vulnerable light, not to mention with an utter lack of control over the progress of her assignment.

“Well,” Jane said into the earpiece. Loki had vanished into his home, probably to get the umbrella she had asked for. Darcy wasn’t sure; he had simply told her to stay put in the patio before disappearing past the glass sliding French doors of his house. The dark scarlet curtains concealed the mysterious interior of the place. Oh god. She fervently hoped he wasn’t going in to take a knife to cut her up when he reappeared. What if the serial killer thing was true? “I’m not saying I approve of how you handled the situation, but since we’re here now, we might as well do what we can.”

“How would you have handled the situation then?” Darcy fired back. Her voice was faint underneath the loud, noisy pattering of the rain on the roof of the patio. The rain had steadily become heavier since she had first asked him for an umbrella. Thunder rumbled in the far distance.

“I don’t know,” Jane admitted. “But entering an unknown man’s house is a bit too scary for me, even if he is our target.”

“If anything happens to me,” Darcy muttered, “you had better call the cops first thing. Though they’ll probably find my corpse by the time they get here. Or if not, maybe I’ll already be raped then.”

“Now, don’t go around scaring yourself,” Jane reprimanded her. “Besides, he might be gay, remember? So he wouldn’t rape you. You’re not to his taste.”

“Wow,” Darcy said sarcastically. “Thanks, Jane. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or insulted.”

“So what do you intend to do?” Jane wanted to know.

“The hell if I know,” Darcy grouched. “Since I’m at his place, maybe I can ask some questions. Like, casually.”

“Be careful,” Jane warned.

Darcy pursed her lips, watching as the French glass doors slid open, revealing the tall, regal figure of Loki Odinson. Still dressed in his coat, he glided to where she sat, and lowered himself on a second chair opposite her by the expensive glass table. She stared as he placed a long, black umbrella on it, next to the folded outline of her map.

“Thanks,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

He smiled. “Are you not worried?”

“Worried?” Darcy said cautiously. “About what?”

He raised his brows. “Have you forgotten?”

“Forgotten what?” she snapped. He was making her feel increasingly edgy, and another roll of thunder rumbled in the night sky, making her jump slightly in her chair. A streak of white lightning illuminated the flawless features of his face, his cunning green eyes gleaming.

“Your dinner. You are very late now, aren’t you?”

She inhaled sharply.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Darcy countered. “I did tell my friends that if I was late, they can start without me.”

“It is not courteous to be late,” he chided her.

“I don’t need etiquette lessons from you,” she said scathingly.

“Oh? And why is that?” Loki asked, a wicked look crossing his face. His lips were upturned again.

“You seem like you’re up to something,” Darcy said impulsively. “Up to complete mischief, I’d say.”

He cocked his dark head.

“They do call me the God of Mischief, actually,” he hummed, “out of exasperated endearment.”

“Who’s they?” She couldn’t believe anyone would call this infuriating man a god. While he might have the devastatingly attractive appearance of one (loathe as she was to admit it), his personality was far too rotten to ever allow him to be on a _celestial_ standing.

“My family.” He shrugged gracefully. “My brother, especially.”

“Do you…?” She cast her bespectacled eyes at the sliding French doors, and at the scarlet shade of the curtains behind it. “Do you live alone?”

Her heartbeat became erratic as long, dexterous bare fingers—he had removed his gloves—suddenly reached out and lightly grazed the damp, golden curls of her long hair draped against her delicate shoulder. “And why would you want to know that?” he murmured.

Darcy quickly pushed his elegant hand away, her smaller fingers tingling from where they had touched his. In that moment, she could not explain it, but she detested the wig she had on. If only—if only he could touch her when she was wearing her own hair…

“To know whether I’m safe from your advances,” Darcy said coolly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Loki chuckled, undeterred. “How about you? Are you not a bold one, requesting to enter an unidentified man’s home?”

“I didn’t request to come here! I only asked for an umbrella,” Darcy said, flushing. “The only reason I didn’t want to wait outside was because it’s raining heavily. Would it make you feel good to make me _wet_?”

She flinched a second later when she realised just how inappropriate she sounded. The heat that suffused her pale cheeks burned as she found herself drowning in laughing green eyes, and the desperate urge to find a hole to bury herself in deepened.

Muffled noises were coming from her earpiece, and she realised with some irritation that Jane was trying to hold back her giggles.

“I might feel good.” Loki’s lips curved into a sardonic, diabolic smile. “I might feel very good, in fact.”

She bit her lip. “You’re a pervert!”

“And you reward my efforts to keep you from becoming… _wet_ , as you say, by making baseless accusations towards myself?” Loki drawled, propping his chin up lazily with his large hand.

Darcy sniffed primly, trying to conceal her embarrassment. “They’re not baseless. I hate it when people touch my hair without permission, for one. It’s sexual harassment, that’s what.”

“Touching your hair is sexual harassment?” Loki looked as if he was trying very hard to laugh. His broad shoulders were trembling. “My dear lady, if that is the case, then I am afraid you are in for a bad shock.” A second passed and he stilled at last, his electric green eyes watched her intently. She felt taken aback at the unanticipated change of atmosphere, and fidgeted uneasily under his unblinking gaze. “That is nothing.”

Was he gay? Or was he not? If he was, why would he be—and yes, she knew he definitely was—flirting with her?

“I’m sure you would know,” Darcy jibed coldly, despite the mad pace of her heartbeat. “Pervert.”

“I am not the one who initiated a double entendre.”

“I didn’t—” She nearly tore at her blonde wig in frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“In other words, your words do not come after thought. There is a danger to the way you live.”

“How is that any of your business?” Darcy scoffed.

“I never indicated as such. I was merely making an observation.” His baritone voice was deep, unruffled, smooth, and arrogant.

Darcy seethed so hard she wasn’t surprised if smoke was rising from her head.

Jane was speaking into her earpiece. “Focus, Lewis,” she said. “Remember our task. Don’t get carried away.”

Darcy wanted to scream at her. How in any sense was she carried away? Carried away with _what_ , anyway?

Still, she knew Jane was right. She needed to get the information for the task, instead of wasting her time with pointless bickering. Once she was done, she could get the money and promptly forget about this asshole.

Just because he was flirting with her didn’t mean that he was straight. Maybe he was bi. She wasn’t sure. Or he could be gay, and might even have a boyfriend, but was simply teasing her for the heck of it. He seemed to derive sadistic pleasure from her discomfort, and she was aware that that alone didn’t mean he felt any sexual attraction to her. She often liked to tease Jane herself with sexual innuendos, but she definitely was _not_ attracted to the other woman.

God forbid.

And what was with this disappointment she was registering in her chest, anyway?

“On another note, I find another observation very interesting,” Loki spoke calmly. “House 27. That is the house you are heading to, correct?”

Darcy tensed at the topic. “What about it?”

His teeth glinted a dazzling white against the hushed amber dim of his patio. “I happen to know the occupants of that house. Living in the same street grants us all a neighbourly bond, you see.”

Her blood ran cold, but she forced herself to remain collected. It wouldn’t do to lose her nerve, not at a crucial moment like this.

“They went overseas just the day prior,” he said deliberately, never taking his intense eyes off her. “It’s interesting, the fact that you say they are expecting you tonight. They aren’t scheduled to return until a week later.”

Fuck.

If this was true, it meant he had been onto her from the very beginning.

Okay. She needed to think this out. This wasn’t the end. She could still find a way out of this. She ignored Jane, who was choking on the other line, and forced herself to focus on the issue at hand. There was a solution to every problem. Of that she was certain. Perhaps she could—…

And then it struck her. The idea was perfect. In fact, she could kill two birds with one stone using this. Find out his sexual orientation, and get herself out of this mess.

Did she dare to pull it off?

Darcy rose from her chair, and walked towards Loki, her numb legs shifting clumsily. He didn’t move, but simply arched his dark brow.

Thunder boomed.

“It’s true,” Darcy admitted, her fingers tightening over her plaid skirt. “I’m not here for a friend's dinner. I made that up. I don't even know who they are.”

Jane let out a shriek from the other side of the line. “What are you doing?”

She leaned forward, and placed her hands on both sides of the cushioned bamboo chair he was lounging languidly in, almost like a large, powerful cat.

The side of his thin, pale lips quirked upwards.

“I came here using that as an excuse to see you,” she went on. “You don’t know me. You might never have seen me before. But I—I know _you._ ”

The gold light emanating from the lamps seemed to highlight the inkiness of his glossy, overlong hair. His lashes cast shadows across his unblemished skin.

Rain struck the roof of the patio like audible needles.

“I’ve been in love with you for a very long time, Loki Odinson.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for late update! I know you guys might probably have a bit of memory lapse regarding what happened in earlier chapters since it's been a while. It happens to me when authors update late. Anyway, just to give a little recap so you don't have to reread the chapters: Darcy is an informant, she's been given an assignment and Loki is her target, bla bla, she's lurking outside his house and she gets caught. She lies that she's going to his neighbor's house for dinner and at the end of the previous chapter he tells her that his neighbors are overseas and she's been caught red-handed for lying. Then... she confesses. Hope the recap helped!
> 
> By the way, another thing I wanna clarify is that Loki didn't send Darcy the mission. He's not the client :) But I LOVE that guess, though!
> 
> Last but not least, on a random note, hipsters are cool. Please kindly drop any kudos/comments if you enjoyed!

_Determine Loki Odinson's sexual orientation._

 Darcy shook, feeling breathless. She coiled her fists by her side, watching his face for his reaction.

_“I've been in love with you for a very long time, Loki Odinson.”_

That was what she had said. The moment those words passed her lips, she felt her stomach clench up in mortification and her face turn red. It was humiliating. Darcy wasn't the type of girl who went around regularly confessing to guys she liked. Back with her earlier crushes, she preferred to keep her emotions to herself. Quiet and docile, she would never make the first move and confess. The girl valued her pride too much to woo a guy, unlike most of her female friends who were rather blunt about their feelings when caught in a romance.

So to confess to this guy she barely knew—not to mention a guy who infuriated the shit out of her, and whom she definitely did not like!—was more humiliating than usual. It was pretty odd, since Darcy had aggressively flirted with many other targets during her previous missions, and hadn't felt abashed about it. She always thought it was because she didn't in actual fact feel anything for them, hence her lack of embarrassment. Plus flirting didn't equate to confessing, so that gave her a sense of security. It was just an act, anyway. So who cared?

Yet Darcy felt humiliated confessing to Loki Odinson, her newest target. God. It was damned awful. But it was the only way to get herself out of this. He was already onto her, having discovered her lies about visiting his neighbours for an imaginary dinner.

If he rejected her—and it was very likely he would, since, well, he didn't even know who she was—it didn't automatically mean he swung for the other team, though. It was a ridiculous plan, she knew. Anyone, straight or gay, would definitely reject a random stranger confessing their love out of nowhere, assuming the former wasn't too freaked out. But perhaps confessing could give her an opening to find out his sexuality. It was a pretty messed up plan (but then again in her defense it was also very last-minute and unprepared), and unfortunately it was too late to back out anyway.

Jane groaned loudly in her earpiece, but Darcy ignored her. She needed to focus. Focus.

Darcy eyed Loki nervously. His aristocratic features were blank.

And then, a few seconds later, his sculpted lips curved. She flushed when amusement played across his visage, his green eyes bright and his dark brows arched.

“How interesting,” Loki murmured at last. His emerald eyes bored onto her artificially blue ones. “It turns out someone is indeed—what was the term you used before? Oh yes—a stalker, after all.”

Darcy was instantly indignant, her embarrassment rising tenfold. “I'm not a—”

She stopped, cheeks burning. If she went along with her story (the one where she was supposedly in love with him), then, yes, she was a stalker. How else would she know his address and name, if she wasn't a love-crazed stalker?

He chuckled, a deep, rich rumble at the back of his throat that grew into full laughter. She was instantly taken aback at the sensual, baritone sound; it sent a jolt straight to her nether region, making the junction between her legs tingle.

“I do not comprehend you, child,” Loki said softly, once his laughter had slowly died away. He was still reclining lazily on his armchair, watching her. “You are rather fascinating.”

“What do you mean?” Darcy snapped, taking a step back away from him. Thunder growled in the distance, and rain pelted the roof of the patio. The storm had not faltered. “All I said was that I—” The girl stuttered, her skin on fire. “—lo-lo-love you. What's so fascinating about that? Have you never received a confession before?”

“Oh, I have,” he said quietly. She flinched when he extended a large, slender hand and languidly curled his elegant fingers around her tiny wrist, keeping her from further retreating from him. A part of Darcy wanted to yank herself out of his grip, but she knew that since she was supposedly in love with him, she wouldn't resist his touch. It didn't help that another part of her, however, actually _did_ want his touch, as ridiculous as it was. “But never one as interesting as yours.”

“You're talking rubbish,” Darcy scowled stiffly. “Interesting? A confession is just a confession! Who cares whether it's interesting? Either accept or reject me now, and don't waste my time!”

He said nothing for a while, looking thoughtful. The silence made her uneasy and increasingly nervous, and she could hear Jane breathing heavily on the other end.

And then, unexpectedly, he spoke again, with a single question that took her completely off-guard.

“What do you know about me?”

Her mouth fell open. “What?”

“What is my favorite color?” Loki inquired calmly, firing off questions in rapid succession. “What are my favorite pastimes? What are my favorite foods? What are my goals and ambitions?”

Darcy let out a choked sound. She was bewildered, extremely apprehensive, and at the same time lost, being unable to answer any of his questions.

Because she didn't know the answers to any of them.

And it seemed Jane didn't either, judging by how the girl was cursing on the other line. Darcy could hear her mouse clicking frantically.

The corners of his thin lips rose, taking her silence as a sign of her ignorance. “You claim that you have loved me for a long time, but you know nothing about me.”

“I do know about you!” Darcy bit at him aggressively. “I know your name, and I know that you're a doctor—”

“Anyone can find that out with a little investigation,” Loki corrected her gently. Her heartbeat quickened as she felt his calloused thumb softly stroke her wrist, where her pulse leapt directly beneath his touch. She wondered if he could feel it. “But other than that, you know not a clue of who I truly am. You claim to be in love with a complete stranger who is nothing but a mystery to you.”

“Maybe I like a bit of mystery,” Darcy said defiantly. “What's wrong with that?”

Loki chuckled. “That, little one, is not love. That is intrigue.”

Crap. Crap. Things were not going as planned. Darcy had intended to interrogate him after he rejected her (which she foresaw as a logical and an inevitable response), and if she was bold enough, to ask him outright if he simply didn't feel attracted to her, or, more broadly, her kind. While she couldn't be sure if he would ever be truthful to her, it was at least a direction and opening she could approach. Darcy was no Sherlock, but she was sure that upon breaching the subject she could figure out why her client was curious with the subject matter of Loki Odinson's sexuality.

“Stop making fun of me!” Darcy spat angrily, tearing her hand away from his loose grip. “If you're going to just make fun of my confession instead of giving me your answer, then I'm leaving.”

She stalked over and snatched up the umbrella—the one he had lent her—from the table.

Jane was speaking into her earpiece. “Darcy. What are you doing? Stay behind, and talk to him some more. This is a good chance to gather more information for the client.”

Darcy ignored her. It wasn't as if she could reply Jane, since Loki was right there. And Jane might be right, but she didn't know a damned thing; she wasn't the one feeling the sting of mortification and embarrassment right now. Darcy wanted to curl up in a hole and just forget about the assignment. Give the client his refund back. Pretend it all never happened.

“At least allow me to drive you home,” Loki offered, ivory teeth flashing. “It would hardly rest well on my conscience to see a girl off in the middle of a storm.” As if on cue, white streaks of lightning broke through the black expanse of sky, illuminating their faces in a blinding glow.

“Drive me home?” Darcy echoed incredulously. “With what car?”

He gestured carelessly towards a closed, shuttered garage not far away within his yard, which she finally noticed for the first time since entering his patio.

“You have a car?” Darcy said, surprised despite herself. “You weren't driving when I saw you outside earlier.”

“I was taking a night walk.” His emerald eyes gleamed. “A pastime of mine. But you don't know any of that, do you, child?”

Again, he was challenging her!

She glared at him.

“What are you trying to say?” Darcy fired at him curtly. “That because I don't know much about you, my confession isn't genuine? That because I don't know anything about your pastimes, I'm a liar? Well, that's stupid. I can like you even without knowing much about you! I mean, I like you because…” She pointed tentatively at him. There was no way in hell she was going to admit he was unnervingly attractive. “Your face isn't that ugly.”

Loki threw back his regal, raven head, and laughed again, this time harder than ever. “You flatter me immensely.”

Jane choked in her earpiece.

Darcy slammed her hand onto the table, fighting back the urge to throttle his neck. “That's it! I've had enough of you and your mind games!” she shouted, her strained voice barely audible over the storm.

Spinning huffily away from that man—that infuriating, annoying, piece of _rubbish_ —she lifted her bag pack over her shoulders and opened the umbrella, so that the dark nylon unfurled before her. Setting her jaw obstinately, she turned her head, adjusted her wool cap with a free hand (and discreetly made sure her blonde wig was in place), and looked again at Loki Odinson through her horn-rimmed glasses. He was still lounging comfortably on the bamboo armchair like an idle, powerful jungle cat.

His green eyes, hooded by heavy lashes, were glittering with mirth, sculpted lips tipped merrily. The sharp, exotic planes of his face were filled with contentment and mischief.

“Open the gates,” Darcy commanded, teeth clenched. “I'm leaving.”

He laughed again, his diabolic, velvety tones rich and lush. Even with the howl of wind and gushing of rain all around the dimly-lit patio, she could hear him clearly.

She stomped off from the shelter of the patio, clutching the handle of the opened umbrella agitatedly. A mistake, evidently, since sprays of rainwater whirled and assaulted her little body in blinding, vicious blows. Her plaid skirt was instantly drenched. It was like walking straight into a hurricane—strong gusts of wind raged, sending the billowing umbrella in her hand spinning away from her desperate grip, leaving her exposed to the harsh elements. Liquid splattered her vulnerable, bare face and the lenses of her glasses.

A large hand grabbed hold of her arm, reeling her firmly away from the wrath of the storm. A dark, warm layer of fabric fell across her head, shielding her from the rain. She allowed the large, long-fingered hand—her anchor in this mad whirlwind—to guide her swiftly back to the patio.

And then, relief.

The unforgiving needles of rain finally stopped pelting her skin, and she was glad for the dry air beneath the shelter. Her bag pack dropped heavily back to the armchair she had just vacated.

Darcy sneezed violently, to her mortification, all over Loki.

“Sorry—” She had barely gasped out a humiliated apology when a second sneeze, just as violent as the first, followed.

Oh, god. She fervently wished the earth could just swallow her up.

“It is alright,” his deep voice soothed. She blinked blearily as the man retrieved a massive handkerchief from the pocket of his black coat—the side of which she realised he had draped over her head by drawing her close to his body under the rain just now—and gently dabbed her sodden cheeks with it.

His malachite eyes were soft with great amusement, but there was also an undeniable tenderness in his expression this time.

“Honestly, child,” Loki sighed, “You madden and entertain me at the same time.”

His long, ink-black mane dripped with crystal rainwater, marking a tantalizing trail across the sinuous dips and curves of the dignified column of his bare neck and onto the expensive fabric of his coat. She tore her mesmerized gaze quickly away from the view.

“Well, sorry then,” Darcy retorted hoarsely. She winced when static from her earpiece cut through her sensitive eardrums. Shit. The rainwater must have penetrated through the wool of her cap and into her earpiece, cutting her off from Jane.

“What is the matter?” Loki murmured tranquilly. His hand, adroit and nimble, stilled, the handkerchief still in his fingers. “Was I too rough?”

He must have noticed her wince, she thought.

“No,” Darcy said. “It's nothing.”

She stiffened when his fingers shifted and curled themselves around the sides of her horn-rimmed glasses, then carefully removed them in a single, fluid motion. She blinked, feeling oddly naked without the security of her fake glasses. The girl held back a grimace. It was like he was beginning to pry her disguise apart bit by bit.

As she watched, Loki deftly wiped the dripping lenses of her wet glasses with the same handkerchief.

“Thanks,” Darcy said weakly. She reached back for her glasses, only to tense when his piercing green eyes flickered upwards and raked her face.

Green met artificial blue intently.

“How curious,” Loki observed wryly. “You are wearing two different forms of eyewear at the same time.”

Spectacles and contact lenses. She caught onto his meaning straightaway.

Her heart froze.

“Wh-what's wrong with that?” Darcy babbled defensively, forcing her profile to remain neutral. “It's fashion. I wear blue lenses to make my eyes that color, because, well, I love blue eyes, and I wear those glasses as it's, you know, hipster, and all.”

_Please just give me a hole to bury myself in._

Did he even know what she meant? God, she cringed even as she spoke. Her explanation was nothing less than horrible, and she doubted he understood any of it.

“Hipsters are cool,” she added weakly.

_Just stop. Darcy. Stop._

Well, at least Jane wasn't around to hear her make a fool of herself anymore.

“Ah,” he said sardonically, dark brows raised. Her cheeks flamed and a hitch rose in her throat when she felt his masculine fingertips, warm and feather-light, reach out and caress her delicate jawline. “Thank you for your enlightenment.”

“Like you know anything about fashion,” Darcy grouched feebly, telling herself to ignore the burning sensation his touch provoked on her wet, alabaster skin.

She wished she could have her enormous glasses back; it felt safer and more obscure to hide behind them. Without the protection of her horn-rimmed frames, her fine features were easily open to scrutiny, making her self-conscious and uncomfortable.

“It is a detriment, this fashion you speak of,” Loki said huskily. His dexterous digits slid boldly up her jawline and brushed tenderly across the swell of her pale cheek. The thick, damp, golden curls of her wig grazed his knuckles. “You shroud your beauty with its deception.”

Her breathing almost halted.

Thunder rolled.

“D—Deception?” Darcy asked faintly. “What nonsense are you talking about?”

And what did he mean by _beauty?_

Instead of answering her query, Loki gave one of his own. “What is your name, child?”

Darcy swallowed, surprised by the question. She realised then that she hadn't yet disclosed her name throughout their time together.

“Virginia,” she said automatically, using the same alter ego she always used for her previous targets. It was the name of another friend of Jane's, whom Darcy was briefly acquainted to. “Virginia Potts.”

He regarded her mockingly. “Must you shroud your identity in deception, too?”

Her jaw dropped, and her belly contricted guiltily. “What are you on about? That's my name!”

What was he, a mind-reader? There was no way he could tell that wasn't her name! Darcy was certain she had answered him very casually, without any awkwardness in her tone. Yet she felt a sense of unease flicker in her chest at the sight of his devilish verdant eyes; the girl was suddenly more self-conscious than ever, irrationally afraid that her real name was, of all things, imprinted over her face.

“Give me my glasses back,” Darcy blurted suddenly. “Give them back right now.”

He lifted a dark, glossy brow, but handed the item back to her calmly with his other hand. Ducking her face away from his touch, she slipped the horn-rimmed glasses on again, and tugged at her wool cap, ensuring it stayed over her ears.

“Feeling better now?” Loki prompted knowingly.

She shot him a withering look. “I really ought to get going.”

He smiled again. “Of course you may. But not, I am afraid, until you take a bath here first.”

His statement, matter-of-fact as it was, shocked her. “What?”

“You will catch a cold,” Loki said evenly, “staying in wet clothing. Take a bath here first. I will give you a change of attire.”

She peered anxiously down at her soaked sweater and plaid skirt.

“I'll be perfectly fine,” Darcy said hastily. “I really think I should go.”

He regarded her, his countenance unfathomable.

“What are you so afraid of?” Loki asked silkily.

She gave him an incredulous look, praying her voice didn't betray the tremor of her heartbeat. “How about, for starters, that you're a grown man and I'm alone in your house in the middle of the night?”

His lips curved wickedly. “How romantic of you, I must say. However, I don't ever remember accepting your confession. Why would I have my merry way with a woman—even if she is a helpless one—whose feelings towards myself are unreciprocated?”

Darcy seethed at his arrogance. Gosh! She wanted to bash him with both her fists! Besides, she didn't even like him for real anyway! What was he getting so haughty for? She was sorely tempted to tell him she didn't like him, that her confession was nothing but a lie to maintain her cover. Common sense, however, refrained her from acting on her temptations. Letting him know she was an informant was way worse.

“First of all,” Darcy hissed vehemently, “I am not a helpless woman. I may not look powerful to you, but I can still pack a punch if I want—”

Her aggravated speech was cut off by a high-pitched shriek when he abruptly bent down and, in a single, lithe movement, tugged the entirety of her sodden plaid skirt down her shapely legs.

She screamed again, her eyes wide in horror and shock.

He ignored her and swiftly whipped off his black overcoat from around his shoulders, then wrapped the large material around her body. The coat was so enormous (which wasn't surprising, considering it had to accommodate his muscled, broad-shouldered build) that it covered her petite stature like an oversized blanket, concealing her naked legs and the fact that she had been stripped from bottom up to her underwear.

Darcy clutched the sides of the coat together frantically, making sure it protected her modesty. The alluring scent of his cologne and masculine essence drifted from the coat to her nose, but she was too peeved to let it distract her.

“You bloody lecher!” she screamed again, stomping her feet hysterically and spewing all the profanity she could think of. “You sick son of a bitch! You fucking pervert! I'll make sure the neighbors hear me and save me—”

Unfortunately for her, heaven was not on her side. Thunder rumbled overhead, muffling her cries.

Loki was, to her fury, laughing again. His teeth gleamed a dazzling white. Dressed in a long-sleeved, black shirt under the absence of his coat, he bent down gracefully again, and picked up the drenched fabric of her fallen plaid skirt from her feet, sliding long fingers into the inner waistline of the article.

“Such a feisty child I have here,” he commented softly, gazing unblinkingly at her. “Doesn't it hurt your heart, little one, to call the man you love such cruel names?”

“Oh, I'll show you what's cruel—”

Her spiel was again interrupted when strong arms scooped her miniature frame up securely, her legs dangling from his embrace.

“Let me down!” Darcy shouted, panicking, the saturated strands of her gold hair sticking to her reddened face. He was making his way to the sliding French doors of his house. “What do you intend to do? I said let me down!”

His rich, glorious voice was as smooth as liquid velvet.

“To strip the rest of your clothes off.”


End file.
